


Operation: Seduce Birthday Boy

by thoughtsappear



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Allergies, Birthday, Birthday Cake, Blow Jobs, Fluff, Hands, M/M, Massage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-20
Updated: 2019-07-20
Packaged: 2020-07-09 11:45:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19887139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thoughtsappear/pseuds/thoughtsappear
Summary: It's Quentin's birthday and Eliot decides he needs to relax by any means necessary.





	Operation: Seduce Birthday Boy

**Author's Note:**

> Happy birthday, Q! Thank you to all the kind peeps who gave me the encouragement to write this, and to Dec who still doesn't go here but reads everything I write. 
> 
> ps. this is set in some au of season 1 where Alice and Quentin didn't get together so fast and time is an illusion.

“How much do you love me?” Margo asked as she threw herself over Eliot’s bed. He was sprawled out, ankles crossed like the gentleman he was, shades on, pretending to be reading a book on ancient greek but really just catching a snooze. 

“You know how much I love you,” Eliot said, letting her curl into his side and rest her head on his shoulder. He set down the book and looked at her from under his sunglasses. 

“Well, you’re gonna love me even more after I tell you what I just found out,” she said.

Eliot just tipped his head, waiting for her to finish her dramatics. 

“It’s our dear friend Quentin Coldwater’s birthday on Saturday,” she said, proud as punch. 

“How’d you find that out?” 

“I may have stolen his wallet.” 

“Petty theft is so unbecoming of you.” Eliot leaned against the pillows and put his hands behind his head. 

“I gave it back.” She batted those doe eyes at him and he remembered how and why she’d gotten her nickname.

“What are we going to do with this information?” he asked.

“Oh, El, do you even have to ask?” Margo cuddled into him and he wrapped an arm around her.

“I was watching him in the cafeteria trying to choose between one percent and two percent milk and the sorry lad nearly had a meltdown,” she continued. “There’s only one thing you can do. Fuck his brains out as a birthday gift.”

Eliot smiled at that. Margo had been teasing him about his crush on the nerd for a few weeks now, but this was her way of showing that she officially approved of him. 

“I made him a gift,” she said. “There’s a massage table in my closet. And I had Todd run to that fancy spa in midtown and get me one of their gift baskets.”

“How much do I owe you?” Eliot asked, already knowing the answer.

“It’s fine,” she waved her hand. “Todd was so eager to go he didn’t even try to get money for cab fare.”

“So, what do you suggest I do?” he asked. “The old, oh no, the spa sent this to you for your birthday by accident, why don’t I just try it out? Or, I thought maybe you could use a massage, you seem _so tense_.”

He said the last bit in an affected theatrical lilt, making Margo giggle. 

“Dealer’s choice,” she said. “I can see him running like a scared deer if you come on too strong though.”

“I’m not gonna let him run,” Eliot said, adjusting his sunglasses. He laid back with increased dedication to his thoughts. Operation: Seduce Birthday Boy was in full effect.

==

“Special delivery,” Eliot said, knocking on Quentin’s door. 

He’d waited until an appropriate hour to wake him up on his birthday morning. Quentin had missed last night’s party and had slipped out of the common room sometime around midnight. Eliot had gone to bed at a much less respectable hour, but excitement over Quentin’s gift had woken him up early, and so he had spent the morning, showering, shaving and setting up the rest of the surprise.

He figured Quentin was taking so long to answer because he was dragging himself out of bed. He had to admit he was curious to see a sleepy, bedraggled Quentin. He had to have some epic bedhead with the mop of hair.

Instead, Quentin opened the door fully dressed, fully functional. His bed was made and his curtains were even open a crack. Eliot had to guess he’d been awake a few hours already.

“Hi,” he said, looking at Eliot like he wasn’t sure if he had the right room.

“This came for you downstairs,” Eliot said, thrusting the basket in his hand. 

Quentin accepted the spa gift, buckling a little under its sudden weight. “I didn’t order this.”

Eliot just shrugged and watched him search for the card, which he’d attached this morning. “Happy birthday from your friends at Daylight Spa.”

He plucked the card out of Quentin’s hands after he’d had ample time to read it. “Oh, it’s your birthday?”

“Yeah.” Quentin didn’t look very happy about the spa gift or Eliot having the knowledge. 

“And you didn’t tell me?” 

Quentin shifted the weight of the package. “I didn’t tell anyone.”

“When I saw this gift, I immediately thought of my freshman year. I made a side hustle doing massages out of my dorm to overworked coeds. I still have a table.” Eliot flexed his fingers, watching Quentin notice. He knew his hands were one of his best features. 

“How about a massage for your birthday?” he suggested. 

He could see Quentin’s brain slowly short-circuiting. He could see him working out some kind of excuse. 

“Don’t think,” he said, wrapping his arms around Quentin’s basket and pulling him forward. “Come on.”

He shoved the door shut behind them with his mind, and led Quentin to his own room. He left the lights low and locked the door. The massage table was stored in his closet and he darted toward it.

Quentin just stood there, holding the basket, blue cellophane in his face. 

“Put that down on the bed,” Eliot directed. “And strip.” 

“What!?” Quentin crossed his arms over his chest as if that would somehow preserve his modesty. 

“I have a robe for you,” Eliot said, sending one across the room. “And a towel for once you get on the table.”

Eliot busied himself with setting up the table while Quentin undressed. One sock, one sock, hoodie, t-shirt, belt buckle. Then he stopped, and Eliot made sure to turn his back and start unpacking the gift basket. He couldn’t believe the shit Margo had put in there. Besides the typical massage oils and candles, there was a chocolate body butter and a coconut mango “sex enhancement gel.” Fancy word for lube, he supposed, but he put that one aside anyway. 

He couldn’t hear Quentin shuffling around anymore, so he turned back. Quentin was standing there, wrapped in the robe, which was a little too big on him, and he looked so uncomfortable Eliot almost considered calling the whole thing off.

“Do you really want a massage?” he asked. “You look like you’re about to faint.”

Quentin unclenched his fists and he took a step forward. “I don’t know.”

“Let’s start slow,” Eliot motioned him over. “Hold out your hand.”

Quentin held out his right hand like he didn’t want it, and Eliot sat down on the bed, pushing aside the mess and motioned for Quentin to sit beside him. Then he began slowly pressing his fingers against Quentin’s, feeling the joints and muscles beneath the skin. Quentin’s hands were like most magician’s, strong and agile, but also stiff from overuse, and Eliot knew exactly where to press to make the tension give. And he did. He watched Quentin’s eyes flutter and his breathing deepen. He didn’t say anything, just finished his work on the right hand, then moved to his left. Quentin offered the hand freely, almost eagerly, and Eliot took his time, making sure to really dig into the tight spots and hit all the best pressure points to make sure that Quentin really reaped the benefits.

The line about running a massage parlor out of his dorm was not a lie. It had started as a way to grope hot boys and get paid for it. It had ended as a way to make enough money to upgrade his meals from ramen and Rice a Roni to carbonara and risotto.

“How about a scalp massage next?” Eliot said, already shifting so he could reach Quentin’s temples.

Quentin’s eyes were wide and he seemed a little scared, but then he allowed Eliot to firmly grip his head. Eliot looked down and saw Quentin’s robe was open just enough that he got a nice glimpse of Quentin’s collarbones and just the top of his chest. 

Get it together, he told himself and focused on the task at hand. Quentin’s hair was soft, and it slipped through his fingers easily. It had grown so much since they’d met, and Eliot liked the way he was always pushing it behind his ears or letting his bangs shade his eyes. He pushed his fingers harder into Quentin’s scalp, and he winced a little.

“Too much?” He relaxed his hold but kept up the massage.

“It’s okay.” Quentin’s eyes fluttered again. “It’s nice.”

“Is that better?” Eliot worked his hands from Quentin’s crown to the base of his neck, and he could already feel the points of his spine there. He couldn’t wait to get his hands on the rest of him.

“Thank you,” Quentin said, running his fingers through his hair as if to tame it. It didn’t do much, but the slight curl that had formed around the edges laid down.

“Should we do the rest?” Eliot said, motioning towards the massage table.

Quentin stared at the table for a moment, then stood up. Eliot grabbed the towel he’d laid out and offered it to Quentin. “Get it around you, then hop up on the table.”

Quentin struggled to take off the robe while still covering all his good bits. Then he also struggled to get on the table, but with some maneuvering, he made it up there, finding all the nooks and crannies in the table and getting comfortable.

“Would you like some music?” Eliot asked. He’d swiped an Enya cd from the psychic kids' house, which of course they knew all about. 

“Sure,” Quentin said, his head nestled into the hole at the top of the table. Eliot turned on his cd player with a wave of his hand. He’d already lit the candles while Quentin was getting on the table.

He poured a palmful of oil into his hand. It wasn’t the normal kind of oil he used, usually an almond or vanilla scented brand. This one had a slightly fruity smell, but it served its purpose nicely. 

He stared by rubbing Quentin’s neck, which was tight and tense and also had a side effect of making Quentin get a little fidgety. If Quentin didn’t roll on to his back without sporting a tent, Eliot was going to consider the gift not received. 

“Is this oil one of those self-heating ones?” Quentin’s voice was a little muffled. 

“Maybe.” Eliot kept working his neck and shoulders, enjoying the way the muscles moved under the skin. Quentin had a nice back. He wasn’t the most muscular, but there was power and movement in his body and his skin was soft and speckled with freckles.

“How does that feel?” he said after a few minutes of really pulling tension out of Quentin’s shoulder. He really needed to stand up straight. His posture was atrocious. 

“Good,” Quentin said. His voice was strained. 

“Do I need to go harder?” Eliot asked, getting more oil and rubbing it between his palms. He couldn’t wait to go down south. 

“It hurts a little,” Quentin said. “Like that oil that warms up. Julia used to have some.”

“I don’t think it’s supposed to.” Eliot rubbed his hands over Quentin’s back, removing some of the excess oil and picked up the bottle. “No, it's a normal massage oil...um it’s called Tropical Beach.”

“Okay.” Quentin seemed to be relaxing, and Eliot was about to start working again when he glanced down at Quentin’s back.

“Holy shit!” he swore, not keeping his voice down like he probably should have. But Quentin’s back looked like he’d been stung by angry wasps.

“Are you allergic to anything?” he asked. Quentin was trying to get up off the table, and see what Eliot was talking about. 

Eliot helped him off the table, neither caring about modesty at this point. He grabbed Quentin’s clothes off the desk and tossed them at him.

“We gotta go to the infirmary, like now.”

==

Twenty minutes later and Lipson was eyeing the two of them as she applied an anti-itch spell to Quentin’s painful looking back.

“You didn’t know you were allergic to coconut?” she said.

“No, I just thought we never kept it in the house,” Quentin said. “My mom did always take the mounds bars out of my halloween candy though…”

Lipson showed Eliot the bottle of massage oil, the first ingredient being coconut oil and the second extract. 

“That explains why it smells like that suntan lotion Margo always wears in Ibiza,” he mused. 

“He’ll be okay, maybe a little itchy and tired from the antihistamines,” she told him. Then she turned to Quentin. “Maybe call your mother and make sure there’s no other secret allergies.”

Lipson started to say something, but she was interrupted by Penny, who had chosen that moment to stroll in. At first, he didn’t seem to notice Eliot and Quentin, but then his eyes raked over the two of them on the hospital bed, Quentin sitting shirtless, with a fire-engine red back.

“What the fuck happened to you?” Penny asked.

“Can I please go?” Quentin said. His face was almost to his knees, but his ears were as red as the rest of him. Lipson handed him back his shirt, and he snatched it, shoving it over his head with a hard yank, and then he practically sprinted off the bed. Eliot just followed, not quite sure where Quentin was headed. 

Penny’s laughter followed them all the way down the hall and out of the infirmary. Once they were out of earshot, Quentin finally made eye contact with Eliot.

“I’m sorry,” Eliot said. He’d barely had time to think since the whole debacle. All he cared about was getting him to a doctor. He’d even left the cd player running and the candles lit. 

Quentin just shook his head. “You didn’t know.”

“How can I make it up to you?” he asked. Quentin started walking, in the direction of the cottage. Eliot jumped into step with him. 

“How about I make you dinner? And then a cocktail? We can forget about this whole mess. I’ll ask Margo to send Todd out for cupcakes.”

“I’d rather just be alone,” Quentin said, walking faster, but not so fast that Eliot couldn’t keep up.

“Hey now.” Eliot grabbed his arm. “It’s your birthday.”

“Yeah well, this is about average as far as birthdays go for me,” Quentin said, a hand sneaking around to scratch at the exposed skin at the back of his neck. 

“Yeah, but I want it to be a nice one,” Eliot said, a hand still on Quentin’s arm as they made their way back to the cottage.

Quentin let out a heavy sigh, and turned back towards him. “Why do you care, Eliot?”

Eliot stopped in his tracks, literally and figuratively. “I just do?”

Quentin yanked open the door to the cottage. “If this is some sick joke, you can just tell me now.”

“Hey, hey.” Eliot rushed up the stairs to catch him before he disappeared into his room and shut him out. “Come talk to me for a minute.”

With a couple tuts the candles were out, the music was off, the lights were back on and the massage table folded neatly away under his bed. 

“I have to tell you the truth,” Eliot said, sitting down on the bed. He left ample space for Quentin who did not sit beside him. “I sent you the basket.”

“I figured.”

“I was going to give you a massage, and then I was going to seduce you,” he admitted.

Quentin just stood in front of him, looking angry and uncomfortable. He reached up a hand to scratch his neck, but then thought better of it.

“So it _was_ a joke!”

“What?” Eliot sat back. “Why would it be a joke?”

“You just wanted to have sex with me.”

“Yeah! Because I kinda like you, Coldwater.” Eliot crossed and uncrossed his ankles. “I have been trying to figure out how to show you. I thought a massage and a birthday orgasm might be a good way to start.”

Quentin swallowed and then rocked on his heels. “You like me?”

Eliot rolled his eyes. “Is that really so hard to believe. You sell yourself too short.”

Quentin rocked again, then settled himself. His hands were frozen by his sides. He seemed to be staring at the void of carpet between their feet.

“The question is,” Eliot added. “Do you like me?”

That caused Quentin to snap his face up and really look at Eliot. He couldn’t quite meet his eyes, but he was definitely looking at him carefully. 

Eliot tried his best to maintain his composure, but the fear that maybe Quentin didn’t like him still clamped down around him. He swore there’d been signals, but maybe he’d read them wrong. Maybe Quentin really was straight. Or Eliot wasn’t his type, or it could be one of the myriad of other reasons someone might come up with not to like someone. 

Maybe he’s just not that into you.

“I um,” Quentin stopped and sat down next to Eliot. “Like you a lot. When you were massaging my head and my hands, that was--”

He deliberately looked down at Eliot’s hands resting in his lap. “--really good.”

“How good?” Eliot leaned forward.

“So good I had to keep my robe closed by sheer power of will,” Quentin replied, making them both laugh. When they were done laughing, Eliot leaned in and rested his weight on one arm, putting him level with Quentin and their faces inches apart.

“Can I kiss you?”

“Yes, please.”

The “ _please”_ wasn’t even all the way out before Eliot was kissing him, a tentative hand reaching for Quentin’s hair. He didn’t want to touch his tender neck or back, but he also ached to. Quentin was an enthusiastic kisser, taking it from soft to something a little stronger after only a moment. Was it sheer desire or pent up sexual frustration? Eliot wasn’t sure and he didn’t need to know. They kissed, sitting side by side on Eliot’s bed until they were both gasping for breath. 

A short repose, and they were joined at the mouth again, this time laying on their sides, both of their legs hanging off the edge. 

“We shouldn’t do this,” Eliot said, pressing his forehead against Quentin’s as they started tugging and yanking his clothes off. 

“No,” Quentin said, sounding like he might be dying inside. Neither stopped kissing. Eliot pulled Quentin’s pants open.

“Your back,” he protested between kisses.

“Eliot, I have been hard as a rock since you massaged my hand. If you don’t touch me, I think I might lose my mind,” Quentin said. 

“Whatever the birthday boy wants,” Eliot said, reaching toward him, and then retracting his hand. “I don’t remember if I washed my hands after using the oil.”

“Fuck,” Quentin groaned both in remembrance of the pain and in being denied. 

“Don’t worry. Eliot maneuvered Quentin carefully to his back and helped him turn so he was laying longways on the bed. “I don’t need hands.”

They worked together Eliot moving to his feet, and Quentin kicking off his pants, exposing a very cute pair of navy blue boxers. Eliot usually liked to start at the top and move down, but today he decided to change it up. He gave Quentin little kisses all over the back of his calves, his knees, and then started sucking gently on one fleshy inner thigh. He pushed the soft fabric of Quentin’s shorts up just high enough that he could suckle there until it left a mark. Quentin was gasping and one hand was clenching at nothing on his own stomach, and the other was petting Eliot’s head. He finished his hickey with a smacking kiss, and set to leave a matching mark on Quentin’s other thigh. 

Quentin giggled more than he moaned during this time, so Eliot made a mental note, he’s ticklish on his left thigh. 

“Take your boxers off,” he directed, sitting up on his knees. He took a moment to check on Quentin, who was lying against the covers like some kind of debauched sex kitten. He loved the quiet types. They usually brought it in bed. 

Quentin did as he was asked and laid there, knees together, trying to hide his very obvious erection. Eliot didn’t comment on it, only made himself comfortable and eased himself down.

“You can pull my hair, but give me at least a five-second warning if you’re gonna come,” Elio said, only an inch or two from Quentin’s trembling hip. Whispering and breathing heavy near his pubic bone seemed to be tickling Quentin, which Eliot loved.

“God, Q,” he said, making sure to wait until Quentin was looking right at him. He didn’t want there to be any doubt about what he meant or what he wanted. “You are so fucking sexy.”

He then swallowed Quentin’s cock as far as he could, making those twitchy fingers grab for the back of his head and hold on for dear life.

Eliot worked him in and out of his mouth, trying to make this good, he felt he owed it to Quentin after causing an allergic reaction before he’d even had cake and presents yet. He licked and sucked him, enjoying the little whines and sighs that Quentin let escape. He was wound so tight, any moan or exaltation was cut off.

“Relax,” he said, patting Quentin’s hip.

“I’m gonna come too fast if I do,” he said.

“That’s fine,” Eliot said and resumed sucking, relaxing his throat so that Quentin’s dick could press deeper. Quentin threw his head back and let out a high pitched groan and this time he straight up tugged on Eliot’s hair. That only made Eliot moan, which set off a pleasure chain between the two of them, Quentin’s moans only getting louder and faster and Eliot’s answering moans hitting the same tempo.

“El,” he grunted. “I’m close, oh.”

Eliot was ready for him and opened his mouth wider and pulled back just enough so that he wouldn’t gag as Quentin came, in short staccato bursts. Eliot licked off the excess and swallowed and watched Quentin’s chest heaving.

“That was,” Quentin was still gasping for air. “Incredible.”

Eliot reached into his nightstand and produced two wet wipes, tossing one to Quentin to clean himself up, and using the other to wipe at his face. “I’ll wash my hands twice before the next round.”

“Kiss me,” Quentin whined, and so Eliot tossed the wipe in the general direction of his trash can, knowing it would find its way. The lay there kissing for what seemed like hours, Quentin naked, and Eliot dressed from the waist down. He had an erection, he wasn’t made of stone, but he didn’t feel any pressing need to take care of it. He was content to just kiss and grope and hump up against Quentin.

The skin on his back was still red, but Quentin insisted it didn’t hurt anymore. Eliot was still a little nervous to touch him there, but Quentin seemed to crave it. Eliot had washed his hands and used hand sanitizer to be safe. Only then did he feel free to explore and took the time to explore Quentin’s body. He had the most perfect ass, just the kind Eliot loved to pinch and fondle. He also had extremely ticklish sides, to where he collapsed with giggles when Eliot ran a hand up or down his flank. 

“How about some birthday sex chocolate?” Eliot said, grabbing at the basket which had been tossed aside after the whole coconut oil debacle.

“Maybe for your birthday,” Quentin said. He was currently nuzzled into the nook between Eliot’s neck and shoulder. They’d been in Eliot’s room for what had to be hours, safe and happy in their bedroom cocoon. Eliot’s stomach rumbled and he was brought back.

“I really should make you dinner,” he said. 

“Not if dinner means you leave this bed,” Quentin’s mouth had latched onto his neck and was currently making his toes curl.

“I’ll get take out or something,” Eliot motioned for his phone, which should have been in his pants. His phone obediently arrived in his hand and he tried in vain to find them something they could order in. Quentin was being far too distracting and Eliot was about to just pin him down and blow him again because after all, it was his birthday.

But then he heard a knock at the door which broke both of them out of their sex trance. 

“Who is it?” Eliot shouted. He wouldn’t get out of bed for less than a natural disaster at this moment.

“It’s Margo,” she spat. “Take your dick out of Quentin’s mouth and open the door.”

“Make yourself decent,” he said, pulling on a robe and helping Quentin to slip under the covers. He strolled to the door and opened it just enough to poke his head out.

“Here,” she said, thrusting a plate into his hand. On it was a small chocolate frosted cake with a messy Q written in pink frosting and two lit candles. “I was pms-ing so I wanted chocolate, you’re welcome.”

“You’re fabulous, Bambi,” Eliot said accepting the plate. Margo grinned then tried to push around him.

“Is he naked in there?” she asked.

“You know I never kiss and tell,” Eliot said, closing the door with his foot.

“Dick deets tomorrow then!” Margo sang out.

He brought the cake over to the bed and he and Quentin huddled around it. “I’m not gonna sing.”

“Margo makes good cakes,” Eliot added. “Part of her sordid past includes a summer at a cupcake bakery. Man, the early 2000s were a different time.”

They admired the cake with its glowing candles for a long moment. Then they turned towards each other, each seeming to have the same question. How were they gonna eat this thing?

“We don’t have any forks,” Eliot complained. 

Quentin blew out the candles in a hearty exhale, then swiped at the frosting with his index finger.

“You’re messing up the cake!” Eliot pretended to be scandalized, but he was cut off by another frosting covered finger coming toward his mouth. The taste of chocolate filled his mouth and he sucked until all he could taste was Quentin’s skin. 

They fed each other cake from their hands, completely wrecking Eliot’s Egyptian cotton sheets and getting icing all over each other. 

Later, when they were clean and full, and had changed the sheets, they lay back against Eliot’s pillows and listened to a summer rainstorm.

“So how does this year rate, in your grand scheme of birthdays?” Eliot asked.

“Well, I’ve never had an allergic reaction on a birthday, so that’s a negative,” Quentin started. “But then I’ve never had this.” He’d laced their fingers together, and he held up their joined hands.

“It’s got to be at least in your top five, right?” Eliot grinned at him and Quentin smiled back and as they kissed, Eliot felt pretty good about the gifts he’d given Quentin.

“Happy birthday,” he said close to Quentin’s ear, as he nuzzled his neck. 

“It really was.” Quentin tugged Eliot’s hand from under them and kissed each of his knuckles. “You still owe me a massage.”

Eliot wiggled his fingers. “Anything for the birthday boy.”


End file.
